


You fuck with them, you fuck with me

by oclark1226



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: BAMF Dick Grayson, Blood and Violence, Brotherly Bonding, Dick Grayson-centric, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt Damian Wayne, Hurt Dick Grayson, Hurt Jason Todd, Hurt Tim Drake, Hurt/Comfort, Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne Have a Good Relationship, Protective Batfamily (DCU), Psychological Trauma, Soft Bruce Wayne
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:27:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27483454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oclark1226/pseuds/oclark1226
Summary: When Batman's out of the country for Justice League business, it falls on Dick to find his missing brothers. Once he does, however, he nearly loses control fighting their kidnapper. He has to deal with both the mental and physical consequences of that fight while helping his brothers heal. Includes some soft Bruce tending to both of his eldest boys because they need some hugs and they support him in return.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne
Comments: 9
Kudos: 306





	You fuck with them, you fuck with me

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline? Doesn't exist. Mostly focused on Dick and some of his interactions with the rest of his family. This thing was supposed to be a DRABBLE and now here we are. Happy ending where everyone deals with their trauma instead of IGNORING it. Like, DC, let Jason have some decent relationships with his family members. Is that so much to ask? Title is from Family by Mother Mother.
> 
> Enjoy!

Dick paced the floor in front of the computer monitor anxiously. Jason, Tim, and Damian hadn’t been heard from or seen in days. Bruce was out of the country on Justice League business and couldn’t risk coming back to Gotham until the mission was complete. He’d told Dick to be patient, wait for the kidnapper to get cocky and make a mistake, but Dick felt his patience waning at the thought of his family being hurt and alone. 

He needed to find out if someone had captured them because they were known heirs to the Wayne fortune or if they had been in costume. If they were taken as civilians, Dick would need to react as a regular citizen, not as a vigilante. It would probably require negotiations and the Gotham PD. However, if they were taken as Red Hood, Red Robin, and Robin, Nightwing would be the one rescuing them. He could take things into his own hands. 

Oh, how he wanted it to be some supervillain that he could beat the shit out of for laying a hand on his brothers.

Don’t get Dick wrong. He’s definitely got the best temper out of the four boys, but situations like this triggered such a strong, protective instinct. Along with that, came a particular fury that he needed to unleash on someone. Specifically, the idiot that had his brothers. He just had to find him.

He was stuck waiting on the computer to run its facial recognition program through the footage he’d found from the outdoor entrance of the Batcave. It had showed a man, about 6 feet tall, bleached blond hair, and tattoos over his arms and legs, who had visited that location almost once a day for the past week, often wearing sunglasses or a cap. He didn’t seem aware of the secret entrance, simply hovering in the area for 15-20 minutes before leaving. He walked with a limp but still exuded confidence. Something about him tickled Dick’s memories, but he couldn’t pick out why.

Finally, the program was done. The monitor declared the man’s name to be Stefan Moore. He was almost 40, worked as a bartender downtown, and had been married until his wife died in an accident. Clean criminal record. No known criminal affiliations. However, he was declared “missing” by the GPD almost a year ago. The footage Dick had recently found was from about a week ago.

Something wasn’t adding up. Some guy shows up at the Batcave entrance starting just a couple days after Damian went silent. Dick hadn’t been able to contact Jason or Tim and that’s when he started getting worried. He growled at the image on the screen. That motherfucker was gonna pay. 

Sitting down, Dick started running the same program through recent footage at Gotham’s hotspots for shady business. He got a hit at the east end of the docks. It was a short glimpse of Moore walking along shipping containers, but there were two figures behind him. Both had dark hoods over their faces and wore dark clothes, no shoes. That was all he got before they disappeared into an old, decrepit warehouse. 

_Fuck. That looked like Dami and Tim._

Usually, Dick was the type to plan things out, at least to an extent. He wasn’t as detailed as Tim or as strategical as Damian, but also not as rash and impulsive as Jason. It was already past midnight. Dick was tired of waiting and watching. Marking the location for the Batmobile’s GPS, he rushed to suit up and leave.

…

Arriving at the warehouse, Dick forced himself to slow down and pay attention to his surroundings. He’d never forgive himself if he just got himself caught as well. The building itself was empty save for some old, rusting machinery. Creeping through the darkness, he felt himself stumble on something. Reaching down, he discovered a latch to a hidden trapdoor.

“Here goes nothing,” Dick muttered to himself, opening it up. It led to a poorly lit stone staircase, continuing deep below sea level. Pulling out his escrima sticks, he started making his way down. He stopped at a heavy metal door, locked from the inside. Trading his weapons for his lockpick, he unlocked it and quietly entered a dark hallway lined with prison cells. It ended with a similar metal door at the end. 

Turning on his night vision, Dick quickly spotted Tim and Damian in cells across from each other. They were in their costumes, now torn and dirty. Both appeared to be asleep, so Dick deliberately gave a soft kick to the bars on either side, waking the boys up without overly alarming them.

“Di—Nightwing? Is that--?” Damian’s voice cut off with a coughing fit that left him breathless. Dick looked to Tim, hoping for an explanation. 

Sounding painfully exhausted, Tim whispered, “They took us to the river last night. Think he got sick from being cold and wet for so long.” Dick felt his teeth grind together, fists clenching hard enough to cause him pain.

Damian didn’t respond, eyelids drifting shut behind the mask. Dick relaxed his hands and unlocked Tim’s door first, using his lockpick. He moved over to Damian’s cell, opening it as well. Tim helped Damian stand, keeping one arm around his shoulders. Tim really didn’t look like he was holding up much better, but they weren’t out of the woods yet.

“Where’s J—Hood?” Dick hissed to Tim.

Tim shook his head. “I don’t know. He’s been separated from us for a few days now. He kept talking back and trying to take our punishments for us.” Dick had to stop and brace a hand against the cell bars. “I—I’ve heard him screaming, usually at night,” Tim added softly. 

Dick stood up straight, every muscle in his body itching to hit something. “I’m going to go find him. You two get out of here. Batmobile’s just a couple blocks west of here.”

Tim swallowed back his argument. He’d _never_ heard that tone from Dick. From Bruce, Jason, and Damian, yes. But not Dick. It was the voice of someone dangerous; someone who planned on causing harm. He just nodded, stumbling toward the door with Damian. 

Dick approached the door at the end of the hall, finding it unlocked. The room inside was dark, almost pitch black. Before his eyes could adjust, he felt cold metal press up against his temple. His hands went up on instinct. He’d barely stepped into the room and was already being held at gunpoint. Fantastic.

The lights came on abruptly, illuminating the room. Across from him, Jason was bound to a chair, gagged and unconscious. His helmet was on the ground next to him but his domino mask was still on his face. There was a chuckle to Dick’s right, in the direction of the gun. It seemed that it was only the three of them in the room. 

Without lowering his arms, Dick growled, low and dangerous, “What did you _do_ to him?”

The man next to him chuckled again, moving to Dick’s front with the gun still held to his head. His face was grim yet casual, playing at amusement while still guarded. He had a thin scar along his cheekbone and dark circles under his eyes. Moore didn’t seem to have an army of thugs at his command. _So how did he capture the others? Some sort of trap? Manipulation?_

Dick, losing his patience, coldly demanded, “Well? What do you want? You don’t seem bothered about two of your prisoners escaping.”

Moore scoffed and sneered, “They weren’t who I was after.” At this, Dick narrowed his eyes beneath his mask.

“What do you want with Hood?” Dick’s words dripped with venom.

“God, you don’t even know, do you?” Moore laughed, gun still in hand. “Let’s jog your memory. Three years ago. Downtown. The wife and I were eating out at this fancy new restaurant when _you_ showed up, doing your superhero stuff,” he monologued. “Some drug deal gone wrong or gang war or _something_ that led to the restaurant being evacuated. As my wife and I were trying to leave, I watched you kick somebody as he fired.”

Moore got quiet. “You didn’t pay any attention to where the bullet went until it was too late. My wife was dead before her body hit the ground. Painless, hopefully.” There was a beat of silence. Moore suddenly started cackling. “And then—get this, this is the best part—my dumbass sat there in shock long enough for some piece of fucking concrete to come down on my leg. Doctors said it was a miracle I even walked after that.”

Moore started circling around Dick. His limp didn’t seem to hinder him by a significant degree, but Dick used his peripheral vision to study how he walked, waiting for the best time to strike. 

“Your allies were all too easy to get together,” Moore grinned devilishly. “They follow anonymous tips like breadcrumbs. Next time though, might wanna check the sources first.” He laughed again and Dick gritted his teeth. Jason was still motionless several feet away. Dick didn’t even know if he was breathing for sure. 

“What do you _want?_ ” Dick shouted. His frustration was starting to get the better of him. His blood was boiling, hands shaking with rage. The longer he was held here, the less time Jason could have. _And the longer it takes for me to break this guy’s nose._

“I want you to _remember,_ Nightwing!” Moore screamed. He darted back to stand directly in front of Dick, their faces inches away. “Do you remember what she looked like? Where we sat? Who you were even fighting?”

No, Dick didn’t remember. When you fight crime for as many years as he has, “normal” criminals and gangs didn’t stick in your memory quite as well as the real crazies that ended up in Arkham. He stared into Moore’s eyes, dragging the moment out, before he finally whispered, “No.” At the same time, he dropped to a crouch, sweeping one leg across the ground to trip Moore in one fluid motion. Once the man was on the ground, Dick knocked the gun out of his hands and towards the far wall. 

Moore cowered beneath him, holding his hands up in surrender. Dick stepped closer, ready to strike the final blow so he could tie the man up and report him to the GCPD. Suddenly, Moore’s gaping mouth transitioned to a grin as he touched his index and ring fingers together and placed his hands on Dick’s shoulders. 

Dick started screaming as electricity ran up and down his body. He dropped to his knees, then collapsed to the ground. Convulsing uncontrollably while Moore laughed above him, Dick wondered if this was how he’d die. His vision was already starting to close in around the edges as his body begged for relief. 

If he had control of himself, Dick would’ve jumped at the gunshot that rang out in the room, making his ears ring and his head pound. Thankfully, the electrocution stopped and he snapped into action. Moore was clutching his shoulder, the one with the glove that had sent Dick into a world of pain, as blood poured from the mangled flesh under his shirt. 

Dick didn’t waste any time on the how or the why. One leg snapped out and kicked Moore in the jaw, whipping his head to the side. Next, he grabbed the man by the throat and slammed his head into the wall. His other hand formed a fist and hit him again and _again_ and _again._ Blood splattered into his face, onto his gloves, onto the wall. 

The images of Damian, Tim, and Jason in this fucking place kept flashing through his mind. With every punch, his fury grew instead of being relieved. With a scream, Dick tossed him to the side like a trash bag. Panting, he approached Moore slowly. Blood dripped from his knuckles, maybe from his mouth too. He was losing track of what blood was his and what was Moore’s. 

“Please,” Moore choked out, arms held up to protect himself as he tried to make himself as small as possible. “Stop. Nightwing, stop, please,” he begged. 

Dick grabbed the front of his shirt with both hands and lifted the man up until his feet dangled in the air. “Did my _brothers_ beg for you to stop?” Dick’s voice came out low and dark. He almost sounded like Batman. “Did they ask for _mercy?_ ”

Moore’s pleas dissolved into sobs and he shook harder and harder in Dick’s grip. Blood dripped from his forehead, his nose, his mouth. One eye was already starting to swell and bruise. 

“N—Nightwing?”

A raspy voice came from behind him. Turning around, he saw Jason had worked the gag out of his mouth. The gun that Moore had held previously was held loosely in his hand. That explained the gunshot earlier. Jason’s face was swollen, bruised, and bloody. Dick couldn’t imagine how the rest of him looked, not to mention felt. 

Looking back at Moore, the anger returned tenfold. Baring his teeth, Dick pulled his fist back, ready to hit him again. “You _dare_ lay a hand on my family again, and I’ll make sure you never walk again,” he hissed. In one swift motion, he let his fist fly and let go of Moore’s shirt. The punch’s momentum sent him into the ground hard. He didn’t get back up. 

Dick rushed over to Jason, immediately untying his bonds and helping him to his feet. Jason carefully dropped the gun on the floor as he stood. If not for Dick’s quick reflexes, he would’ve toppled onto the floor. Dick steadied him until he was able to hold his own weight better.

“Di—” Jason breathed, but Dick shook his head. 

“Not now. Gotta get you out of here first,” Dick ordered. Neither of them looked back at Moore as they left the room. Once they reached the surface, they found Tim and Damian already in the Batmobile, which was idling nearby. Tim helped Dick get Jason inside as carefully as possible, but Jason couldn’t help hissing in pain. 

Tim stayed with Jason in the backseat while Damian sat up front with Dick. No one commented on the amount of blood on Dick’s skin and suit. By the time they reached the Batcave, Damian was dozing and Jason was fighting to stay conscious. 

Alfred was there, as always, to tend to the injured. Damian was given fluids and antibiotics to help his immune system fight off his illness. Tim kept insisting he was fine, but an x-ray proved him wrong by showing several fractured ribs and a broken bone in his hand. Jason was the worst. He had broken ribs, severe lacerations on his chest and back, broken fingers, and several fractures in his foot. He was also given fluids and antibiotics once Tim explained that Jason had been giving his rations of food and water to the younger two, especially once Damian took a turn for the worst. 

Dick refused medical attention time and time again, demanding that the others were taken care of first. Even once they were all stable and resting, Dick disappeared to shower and change. He made it through that much, but as he walked back into the main area of the Cave, his vision started going dark and the floor rushed up to meet him. 

When he came to, he was laying on a cot with his brothers in the medbay. Alfred had stripped all of them down to just shorts in order to examine and treat them. Just like the Damian and Jason, he had an IV of fluids in his arm. Before he could pull it out, Alfred appeared next to his side. “Master Dick, I would not recommend removing that. You’ve been working yourself to the bone since the boys were first taken and it’s finally caught up with you. If you don’t rest, you won’t be any use to anyone.”

Dick acquiesced reluctantly, hands going back to his sides. “Thanks, Alf,” he whispered hoarsely. Looking around, he could see Jason to his left, Tim across from him, and Damian to his right. They were all fast asleep, looking more peaceful than they’d been in days. Dick sighed and leaned back into the mass of pillows behind him. Alfred still remembered how much he loved comfort items like blankets and pillows. 

Alfred himself excused himself to the manor to start preparing a meal, sure that the boys would be starving once they woke. Once the butler was gone, Dick forced himself into a sitting position with a stifled gasp, clutching his chest. The aches throughout his body from being electrocuted made themselves _very_ apparent and he panted through waves of pain, nausea, and dizziness. Alfred might have had a point. 

Once Dick could breathe again, he carefully lowered his bare feet to the cold, hard floor. He’d gotten down on the side of his bed that faced Damian, so he checked on him first. Other than looking a little paler than usual, Dick wouldn’t have been able to tell how sick the kid was. It was hard not to see the bruises, cuts, and scrapes that lined his arms, legs, even his face. 

Dick forcefully exhaled as he unclenched his fingers gradually, undoing his fist. This wasn’t the time for revenge, just recovery. His brothers needed him to be there for them, not off making Moore’s life a living hell. Pressing a soft kiss against Damian’s forehead, something only allowed when he was asleep or in very rare moods, Dick walked stiffly to Tim’s cot. 

The third Robin was sleeping soundly, his good hand resting on his stomach. Dick winced at the bandages covering his ribs and chest, somewhat glad that he didn’t have to see the level of bruising underneath. He gently placed a hand on Tim’s arm, giving it the slightest squeeze. He’d have to make sure Tim got enough rest once he was off the heavy meds. That kid didn’t know when to take a break.

Last, Dick reached Jason’s cot. Any remnants of a smile dropped from his expression. Jason’s face was red more than its normal color. Alfred had cleaned off the worst of the blood, but barely healing scabs were all over his body. One foot was propped up and in a cast; Dick would have to find some markers and get his other brothers to sign it with him. Bandages covered his chest like Tim’s, but these were already stained with blood trying to leak through. 

Dick held himself up, one arm on Jason’s cot and one on his own, as a dizzy spell hit him. He wasn’t sure if he’d pushed himself too far physically or if the weight of his brothers’ kidnapping was finally hitting him. Realizing it was more the latter, he carefully slid down to the floor, pulling his knees towards his chest. He stayed there, motionless except for shaking throughout his body that came and went in waves. 

He’d been sitting there long enough to lose feeling in his butt when he heard Jason shift above him. As quickly as he could manage, Dick pulled himself upright. Jason’s eyes were shut tight and his head tossed from side to side. Looking closer, Dick could see sweat glistening on his forehead. Knowing Jason, his fever dreams would be anything but pleasant. 

Dick gritted his teeth and braced himself as he shook Jason by the shoulder to wake him up. Jason must’ve been feeling _really_ bad because his natural instinct to assault whoever woke him up didn’t activate and Dick dropped his guard with a sigh of relief. Jason’s eyes were wild, and Dick gave him a tired smile and squeezed his shoulder, hoping to ground him. It took a few seconds, but Jason seemed to put together where he was and why, eyelids drooping almost shut.

“Dick’ead,” he murmured. “Whaddya doin’?”

“You’re sick, Jay,” Dick replied, laying a hand on his forehead to check. “Yep, definitely have a fever. I’ll let Alfred know.” He leaned up against the wall, feeling his own strength starting to wane. “You were having a nightmare, I think. Figured I’d shake you out of it.”

He received a muttered, “Thanks,” in reply. Dick smiled to himself as Jason wriggled around to get comfortable and swiftly fell asleep again. _No problem, Little Wing._

His next task was to update Alfred on Jason’s condition. While he was up, he checked Damian’s forehead, but he seemed to be doing okay. Now for the real challenge: stairs.

Sure, the Batcave had an elevator. They’d used it plenty of times when one of them was temporarily incapacitated and healing, or for Barbara after she got shot. But using the elevator meant admitting he was feeling like shit, and he wasn’t ready for that yet. For Alfred’s sake, he wanted to prove himself capable, another set of hands ready to help. 

Even though he wouldn’t allow himself the luxury of the elevator, Dick spotted a pair of crutches on his way out and took one. Having something to take some of the pressure off his aching legs would be helpful for the climb up. He made his way up the stairs slowly, but steadily. By the time he reached the manor level, he was panting with exhaustion, but he was there. 

He stopped to catch his breath, leaning up against the wall. He left the crutch by the grandfather clock and walked slowly and painfully to the kitchen, using objects along the way to keep him upright. He peeked into the kitchen before going in and saw Alfred simultaneously cooking eggs, bacon, and pancakes. And _God,_ did it smell good. 

“Master Dick!” Alfred was torn between leaving his post to go scold Dick and making sure his eggs didn’t burn. Dick limped in with a sheepish grin, meeting the butler about halfway and taking a seat on a stool at the island in the middle of the room. Before Alfred could launch into his rant about “taking care of yourself properly,” Dick held up a hand and dropped the smile.

“Jay’s sick. He’s got a fever and I think he was having nightmares, or maybe some sort of fever dream. He’s definitely not in the right state of mind though. He actually woke up without trying to attack me, and with him, that’s a problem,” Dick explained. 

Alfred nodded, humming thoughtfully. “Well, once the young masters wake up, I’ll bring down breakfast and check them out thoroughly.”

Dick opened his mouth to offer to help and Alfred shook his head. “No, you are _not_ helping. _You_ are going back down there to rest. Now, do I need to force you or will you go willingly?” Alfred narrowed his eyes dangerously at Dick, who held his hands up in surrender with a chuckle.

“All right, all right. Message received, Alfie. I’ll head back down. But first, do you have any idea when Bruce is coming back? I know he said they’d hopefully have things finished up by the end of this week,” Dick said, lowering his arms and giving Alfred a softer look.

Alfred sighed, “Yes, I do believe Master Bruce should be back tomorrow or the day after that. Depends on how well today goes.”

Dick nodded and moved to get up. When he winced, Alfred offered his arm, but Dick shook his head. He made it to his feet and gave Alfred his best, “I’m totally not that injured” smile while trying not to grit his teeth. Alfred shook his head at him, but resumed his cooking duties without another word. 

The trip back down to the Batcave wasn't nearly as taxing as the trip up, so Dick wasn’t feeling too bad once he got downstairs. He kept the crutches close enough to his cot that he or one of his brothers could reach them easily. Once he stopped to think about it, he realized Jason would be better off with a wheelchair, so he brought one over to the more open side of Jason’s cot. 

His brothers were still asleep. Dick wanted to join them, but seeing them like this made him furious all over again. Moore’s face reared its ugly head in his mind with every breath he took. He looked down and realized he was clenching his fists again. He spotted one of their fighting dummies nearby and forced himself into a run towards it. Once he reached it, he let his fists and his feet fly. 

Staying in motion made it easier to ignore the pain, both physical and mental, so he didn’t stop. Just kept throwing punches and dodging imaginary attacks until his moves got sloppy and tired. Gasping for breath, he finally stopped, leaning back against the dummy and sliding down to the floor. His knuckles were bloody and his hands were shaking. 

He couldn’t stop shaking.

The sweat on his forehead blended with the tears on his cheeks. He cried silently, not wanting to wake the others. He shoved his palms into his eyes, trying to force Moore’s face from his mind. Dick hadn’t even checked to see if the man was still breathing when they left. He could’ve _killed_ someone. And Bruce would be back soon and he’d have to admit to what he’d done. 

_I can’t do this. I can’t do this. I can’t._

Dick was fighting the urge to either throw up or pass out when he suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder. Jumping at the sudden contact, he looked up, lowering his bloody, tear-soaked hands. Damian, who absolutely should _not_ have been up and moving yet, was crouching down next to Dick with wide eyes.

“Richard? What happened? Are you all right?” Damian’s stony façade evaporated seeing Dick in this condition. Still fighting off nausea and dizziness, Dick just shook his head. Damian’s hands on his shoulders helped ground him, but it took several minutes for him to calm down enough to speak. 

“You sh—shouldn’t be up, Dami,” Dick choked out, wiping at his eyes. Too late, he realized he must’ve smeared blood on his face in the process. He pushed himself to his feet unsteadily, using both Damian and the training dummy for balance. He leaned against the dummy as Damian continued to stare at him, silently asking him a hundred questions. 

“You shouldn’t be up either,” Damian retorted hoarsely with a frown. “Pennyworth said you passed out from dehydration. And stress. I don’t think any of _this,_ ” Damian gestured at Dick vaguely, “is helping.”

Dick couldn’t help but laugh. “Yeah, no kidding.” His smile dropped as fatigue started to settle in. He looked down at his hands, still slick with blood. Fighting back the urge to throw up, he sighed. “I’m gonna go wash up. You should—”

“I’ll accompany you,” Damian interrupted matter-of-factly. “Someone should make sure you don’t pass out again.” Dick knew better than to argue, regardless of Damian’s true motives. Shakily, his legs carried him back to the medbay, where he cleaned himself up, bandaging the worst of his injuries. Damian hovered nearby, ready to catch Dick if he stumbled. 

“Come on, kiddo. Let’s get a little more sleep in while we can.” Damian kept one arm protectively around Dick’s back in case he started to sway as they walked back to the cots. Damian made sure Dick got settled into his cot before he got into his. 

They’d both removed their IVs, which was a poor decision in hindsight. Damian had paled considerably from the short journey through the Cave and Dick was starting to get a killer headache. Thankfully, that was when Alfred decided to return to check on everyone. 

As soon as the butler saw Dick and Damian were awake and had been moving around, he sighed. “It’s simply impossible to keep more than two of you down at a time when you all get together,” he scolded gently as he began working on Damian’s IV. Damian frowned, but didn’t respond. Dick kept an eye on them but turned his head as something moved in his peripheral vision. 

“Ugh, I feel like I got hit by a bus. Maybe two,” Tim groaned, using his good hand to rub at his eyes. Dick gave him a sympathetic smile and Damian muttered, “Join the club.” Alfred finished up with Damian, having reattached the IV and taken a blood sample, as well as checking his temperature. Next, he started checking Tim, making small talk throughout his inquiries regarding his current condition. 

Dick found himself looking over at Jason. His bandages needed changed already and the splotchy patterns of bruising that were visible looked worse than when Dick had found him. Mercifully, he seemed to be deeply asleep, far from the world of nightmares. 

“Dick?” Tim’s voice snapped him back to reality.

“Huh? Sorry, zoned out for a second there,” Dick said, looking across to Tim.

“Are you feeling okay? You look kinda pale,” Tim observed with concern in his eyes. “Are you feeling like you’re gonna pass out again?”

Dick shook his head, then held it in one hand as a dizzy spell hit him. Tim opened his mouth to say something, but Dick beat him to it. “I’m good, just moved too fast is all,” he explained, looking back up with a sheepish grin. Tim gave him a look that implied he wasn’t sure he believed him, but left it alone. 

They both turned to watch as Alfred started peeling away the soiled bandages on Jason’s chest. Even when he reached bare skin, Jason didn’t stir. The nasty, jagged cuts and open wounds looked raw and irritated, and Dick found himself wincing just from the sight. Alfred redressed the injuries without comment, then took Jason’s temperature. 

“102.5 degrees,” he murmured with a frown. He disappeared from Dick’s view for a few minutes and returned with a bowl of ice water and several washcloths. After soaking each cloth in the water and wringing them out so they were only damp, he laid one on his forehead, some on his wrists, and another on his neck. He nodded to himself, pleased with his work, then retrieved the supplies needed to get a blood sample. 

After getting the blood sample, Alfred went back to the manor, promising to bring down breakfast soon. Tim and Damian practically cheered aloud at the news. _How long have they been malnourished?_ Dick wondered to himself. Damian coughed and Dick looked over in alarm, but it wasn’t anything serious. He was painfully on edge and every little sound was startling him.

Dick remained hypervigilant until Alfred returned via the elevator with a cart full of breakfast essentials: eggs, bacon, pancakes, waffle, and plenty of beverages to go along with them. Alfred reminded Tim and Damian to go slow and Dick’s stomach dropped, along with his appetite. He felt so much hurt for his brothers. All he managed was a couple pieces of bacon and some orange juice before his body threatened to rebel against him.

Dick was content to be in his brothers’ presence while they ate. Alfred kept conversation light and cheerful until the alert sounded for a call coming into the computer. He strode out from the medbay to answer, leaving the boys to wonder. When he returned, he gave them the news quickly. “It seems the Justice League had better success today than they’d expected. Master Bruce should be back by tonight.”

Dick felt an overwhelming sense of relief. Bruce would come home and he’d make sure everyone was okay and he’d be able to take charge and Dick would finally be able to breathe again. As much as he loved being independent, he also loved having support from other people, even if Bruce didn’t show his affection in the most typical way. 

Dick found himself fighting off a yawn. Looking at Tim and Damian, he saw they were starting to look pretty tired too. Alfred noticed the decrease in energy and collected everyone’s dishes, returning them to the cart. He turned back to ask if anyone needed anything else, but the boys were all asleep. He smiled as he returned to the manor. If only Bruce was here to see this.

…

When Dick woke again, the lights in the medbay had been dimmed and it took a minute for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. As he waited, he heard a noise from the Cave, somewhere beyond his field of view, even if the lights had been on. He waited, squinting, until a familiar form entered his sight. Bruce had removed the cowl of his suit and appeared to be talking to someone, probably Alfred. Sure enough, Bruce disappeared, returning in sweatpants and a t-shirt, with Alfred following him to the medbay. 

As they approached, Dick struggled to sit up. It didn’t hurt nearly as much as it had the last time, but his head still spun with sudden movements. By the time Bruce was close enough to see him, he was propped up against he pillows, a boyish smile on his face. Bruce smiled back and walked straight to him. 

“I see you got our boys back,” Bruce whispered, squeezing Dick’s hand. Dick nodded, feeling like he was Robin again, desperate to make Bruce proud. Now, he could see that Bruce was proud more clearly. You just had to learn the signs. 

Alfred started checking temperatures and adjusting IVs and antibiotic dosages. Bruce observed it all with a calm demeanor, but Dick could tell he felt helpless, and that always made Bruce get a little stiff. To try to distract him, Dick offered, “While Alfred checks on them, I could give you a report on what happened.”

Dick nearly slapped a hand over his mouth. Why had he suggested that? He’d have to tell Bruce that he’d left the kidnapper, dead or alive, in that underground bunker. He had no idea what had happened once they’d left and hadn’t exactly been in the best condition to go and find out. 

Bruce didn’t notice Dick’s internal dilemma and just nodded, taking on a serious expression. Alfred removed Dick’s IV, adding, “You shouldn’t need that for too much longer, Master Dick,” as they left. Bruce let Dick lean against him, surprised by how weak Dick felt against him. 

Frowning, Bruce waited until they had left the medbay to ask, “Have you been eating enough? You weren’t captured too, were you?”

Dick shook his head. “No, I’ve been eating fine and I didn’t get kidnapped. Alfred says I’m just dehydrated and stressed. I, uh, kinda passed out when we first got back. Haven’t really felt 100% since then.” He tried to take more of his own weight on instead of leaning so much on Bruce, but the older man didn’t let him. Instead, Bruce guided him to a chair and made him sit, then crouched to look at him at eye level.

“Dick, I’m sorry I was gone during all of this. You shouldn’t have had to deal with this situation on your own. You handled it really well and got everyone back in one piece and that’s all I’m worried about. Take your time to rest, okay?” Bruce placed a hand on Dick’s knee and smiled. Dick let himself relax a little and nodded.

Bruce stepped away to prep the computer for a report. Once he was ready, Dick explained what had happened, from the first day he realized something was wrong, up to finding Jason alone with Moore. He told Bruce about Moore’s motives and paused. How much did he want to tell Bruce? Would he understand why Dick had acted in the manner he did?

Taking a deep breath, he continued, “He electrocuted me with some sort of glove or technology on his hand by pressing his fingers together. Jason somehow got his hands on the gun I’d kicked away and he shot Moore, which gave me the opportunity to, well, kick his ass. I…” Dick trailed off. Bruce looked over at him with a frown, but waited. 

“I wanted him _dead,_ Bruce,” Dick whispered. “I almost…I didn’t feel in control. I just wanted to hurt him. And when we left, I didn’t even know if he was still breathing. I didn’t care.” Dick hung his head, too ashamed to look Bruce in the eyes. A hand grasped his chin, firm but kind, and brought his head up. 

“I’m not upset with you, Dick,” Bruce began, staring into his eldest’s blue eyes. “You did what you thought was best and you got everyone out of there safely. You prioritized our family’s health over revenge. I’ll see if I can find out anything on Moore’s condition or whereabouts. But I need you to worry about healing. Support your brothers and take care of yourself. I’ll take care of the rest, okay?”

Dick broke down, hugging Bruce’s chest tightly as he quietly cried. Bruce returned the embrace, one hand in Dick’s hair and the other rubbing circles into his back. Dick noticed footsteps approaching them and Alfred whispered something to Bruce, who grunted in response. They stayed in place for several more minutes, Bruce waiting patiently until Dick had calmed down. 

They walked together back to the medbay, report forgotten, and Dick sat back in his cot as Bruce pushed a water bottle into his hands with a pointed look. Dick rolled his eyes fondly and obediently started drinking it. Bruce leaned against the wall in between Dick’s and Jason’s cots, idly looking over everyone. Alfred was gone, presumably back in the manor. 

Jason’s scream broke the relative quiet. Dick nearly choked on his water in surprise and Bruce moved lightning fast to Jason’s side. Jason’s hands and feet were flailing about relentlessly as his screams got more frantic. Bruce was forced to hold his arms and chest down so he wouldn’t hurt himself. Dick got up as quickly as he could manage and held his legs down, only getting hit in the head once or twice. 

“Jason, it’s not real! You’re dreaming! You need to wake up!” Bruce’s authoritative voice rang against deaf ears. Jason still struggled, weakly whimpering as his strength rapidly drained. Tears streamed down his face and his face was screwed up in terror. Bruce could feel his son’s heart racing, even through the layers of bandages. 

“D—Dad?” Jason’s voice was barely a whisper, his breath tickling Bruce’s neck.

“I’m here, Jason, I’m here,” Bruce murmured soothingly, pulling Jason into an embrace. The younger, though nearly the same size as Bruce, buried his head into his chest, shoulders shaking with quiet sobs. Bruce, to his credit, only tightened his grip, desperate to show Jason that he was safe and _alive_.

Dick slowly let go of Jason’s legs once he realized he was too tired to fight, even if he got worked up again. Letting Bruce have his moment with Jason, he got back into his cot quietly, looking around to see that Tim and Damian had somehow slept through the whole ordeal. _Well, Alfred’s definitely got ‘em on the good stuff,_ Dick mused. He reopened his water, taking a few more gulps before setting it off to the side so he could lay down. His own emotional breakdown had taken its toll on his energy levels and this sudden burst of adrenaline certainly hadn’t helped. 

He glanced over to see Bruce and Jason still holding onto each other. He couldn’t be sure, but Bruce looked unsteady on his feet, back heaving almost like he was crying. He watched as Jason’s fingers grasped Bruce’s shirt tighter and his crying got worse. Dick wanted to help, to comfort both of them, but they needed this moment to themselves. 

Jason’s cries were starting to quiet and Dick could just barely hear the rumble of Bruce’s voice. Jason tried to take a deep breath, but he choked, coughing hard suddenly. Bruce supported Jason’s back, usually so strong and steady, as his son coughed and spit. Dick sat up and moved to be by Jason’s side, but Bruce held up a hand. 

Teary-eyed, Jason rode out the rest of the coughing spell with Bruce’s arms around him as Dick could only watch in concern. He coughed hard enough to gag a couple times and Dick looked around for the nearest trash can or bucket in case Jason threw up. Bruce was holding Jason upright and encouraging him to sit up straight so he could breathe better when Dick quietly set a trash can to the side of the cot.

Jason gasped for air, but slowly, his breathing started to level out, resuming a normal pace. He still leaned into Bruce’s embrace; exhaustion was written clearly on his face. Bruce murmured some more comforting words to him, slowly laying him back down. Jason’s eyes were closed before his eyes hit the pillow.

Bruce leaned back against the wall and pinched the bridge of his nose, letting out a long sigh. He and Dick stood in silence, listening to Jason’s raspy breaths. 

“He woke up and he thought,” Bruce swallowed hard before continuing, “He thought he was in his coffin. He thought he was dead, and he’d just woken up back in that damned coffin.” He turned and slammed a fist into the wall, cracking it and definitely breaking at least one bone in his hand. 

Dick reached out with one arm, touching Bruce’s shoulder. “But he’s not. Right? He’s not dead. He’s not in that coffin,” Dick replied softly. “He’s alive and he’s here, with us.” He put his other arm on Bruce’s opposite shoulder and forced the other man to look at him. “All we can do now is _be there_ for him,” Dick finished. 

Bruce looked back at Dick, emotions swirling in his eyes but not a single one quite settling. After a moment of complete stillness, the façade broke. Tears ran down Bruce’s face and he let Dick pull him into an embrace just like he’d done with his other son minutes ago. They didn’t say anything; they didn’t need to. 

…

Dick didn’t remember falling asleep, but Bruce must have tucked him in sometime after—Shit, Jason. Looking over, he saw his brother was facing him, fast asleep, mouth hanging open. Dick smiled. Some things never change. 

This was the best Dick had felt in days. He got up without getting (too) dizzy and saw that Tim and Damian were gone. Frowning, he looked around, but didn’t see anything amongst the cots and medical equipment that gave him a clue. He’d been planning on heading up to the manor to eat something because he finally had a decent appetite, but he didn’t want to leave Jason alone. 

Cautiously, he sat on the edge of Jason’s cot. If he listened closely, he could hear a wheeze in Jason’s breathing. _At least his breathing sounds steady,_ Dick reminded himself. He was good at finding the positives in rough situations, unlike the rest of his family. 

Jason stirred next to him, turning onto his back with a quiet groan. Before Dick could figure out if he wanted to leave or stay, Jason was opening his eyes and muttering, “Why’re you here?”

“Not allowed to be an overprotective big brother, am I?” Dick cracked back with a grin. 

Jason rolled his eyes and tried to sigh, but it turned into a cough. Dick’s eyes widened and he reached out to help, but Jason swatted his hands away. _Well, someone’s feeling more coherent than he was last night,_ Dick noted to himself. 

Jason stopped coughing and slouched even further into the pillows with a groan. “Feel like I got used as a pinata,” he complained hoarsely. One arm was wrapped around his chest while the other rubbed his eyes. 

“You kinda did, Jay,” Dick responded, averting his eyes. He tried to keep the guilt and fear out of his voice, but Jason knew how to read him. 

“Relax, Goldie,” Jason chuckled weakly. “You and I both know we would’ve done the same shit if we switched places. And don’t even try with that ‘I should’ve been there sooner’ bullshit. I know you. You probably couldn’t bear to _not_ be looking for us 24/7.” He coughed a little at the end of his sentence, leaving him out of breath. 

Dick frowned. “Do you want me to go get Alfred? Or Bruce? You shou—”

“Dick.” Jason’s voice was as strong as he could manage. “Shuddup. This shit’ll heal, no problem. But I gotta know something.” He propped himself up on his elbows and stared Dick down. “What happened to Moore?”

Dick froze. “I—I don’t—I don’t know. I just left him there, and…” he trailed off, looking at the floor, the cot, anything but Jason’s face. “I could’ve killed him, Jay,” Dick added in a low voice, swallowing hard. “I didn’t realize I had that… that capability in me. But when I saw what he did to you—to all of you—I couldn’t stop myself. I haven’t been that angry in a long time.”

Jason’s expression softened into something a little less interrogative. “Dick, I seriously doubt you killed him. I was there, watched the whole thing. You definitely scared him, but I don’t think you killed him. I don’t know that you could have, even if you tried.” Before Dick could interrupt him, he held up a hand. “I know you’re physically capable, but I don’t think your bleeding heart would let you.”

Dick sighed. Jason was probably right. It took a lot to kill someone in hand to hand combat, especially without weapons. “Thanks, Little Wing. I think I needed that,” he said with a sad smile. Jason rolled his eyes in return. 

“Don’t get used to it, Dickhead,” his replied, his usual aloofness returning. “Just… don’t beat yourself up over it, got it?” The question was phrased more like a request, like Jason knew Dick couldn’t fully _not_ hate himself for losing control, but he could try to hate himself a little less. Dick just nodded in response as he stood. 

“I’m gonna go find Alfred, if you think you can manage not dying for a few minutes,” Dick explained as his stomach growled. “I’m starving, but I’m sure as hell not leaving you alone for longer than I have to.”

Jason pouted. “First of all, I don’t need babysat. Secondly, if Tim and Damian are out of here, I want out too.” He accentuated the end of his last sentence with an aggressive point towards the wheelchair Dick had left nearby. 

“Are you sure?” Dick asked nervously. He didn’t know if Jason was really ready to be up and moving, but he also knew how easy it was to get stir-crazy when an injury left him bedridden for more than a couple of days. The last thing they needed was an even less patient Jason. 

Jason nodded vigorously as he slowly eased himself into a sitting position, removing the IV and electrodes on his arms. Dick helped him balance on his way down into the chair, and then pushed him out of the medbay to the elevator. While they waited for the elevator to stop, Jason asked quietly, “Did I dream Bruce last night?”

“Um, what specifically did you dream? Because he was around, but he could’ve done _anything_ in your dream,” Dick responded lightly. 

“He…He hugged me. And apologized. A lot. And I think we both cried. But that can’t be real. Can it?” Jason looked up at Dick like a lost child and Dick’s heart nearly shattered.

“Yeah, Jay,” he said with a smile. “It can, and it did.”

They remained quiet for a beat before Jason quietly growled, “If you tell anyone about this, I will break both your legs and both your arms and make it all look like some freak accident.” Dick chuckled in response, but nodded all the same. When the elevator doors opened up, they found the rest of the family relaxing in the dining room, finishing up breakfast and chatting and laughing with each other. 

Once the surprise of seeing Jason passed, Tim and Damian dragged him and Dick over to the table to help them settle some ridiculous argument that had Bruce and Alfred both rolling their eyes. Laughing and smiling with his brothers, Dick savored this moment. He’d remember it in the future, when Damian and Tim squabbled or Jason and Bruce argued. It was a crazy family to be a part of, but it was his.


End file.
